Today is Veteran’s Day and as I listen to tributes on the radio and read various news articles, I can’t help but remember my hero, my grandfather. My grandfather, on my dad’s side, was a great man, and I regret not having more time with him. He died of colon cancer the summer after I graduated from high school. He never got to see me graduate from college, get married, earn my masters degree, or meet my son. He did however leave a legacy, and that’s really more than I could ask.

Part of the Greatest Generation, he was a veteran of WWII. He fought in Germany where mortar shrapnel took one of his legs. He was captured by the Germans and declared MIA. He told stories of laying in a German hospital, listening to allied planes flying over and praying that they wouldn’t drop bombs on the building he occupied. My grandmother still has the MIA letter she received.

He didn’t die overseas; God spared his life, and I’m grateful for it. He and my grandmother had two sons of which my dad is the oldest. They lived a modest lifestyle, attended church regularly, and did what they could to bless others. I remember attending my grandfather’s retirement party, he worked for the Employment Security Commission for 42 years where his primary role was helping people find employment. He had so much unused vacation time and sick leave that he got paid months after he retired. Talk about work ethic . . .

My grandfather taught my dad how to take care of his family, how to work hard, and how to be a man of God. Equally as important, he taught my dad how to pass those things on to my brother and I. Put God first, your family second, and your neighbor third. My grandfather loved the Lord with all his heart and he tirelessly served his church; I doubt he ever missed a Sunday. I can picture him standing on the second row singing and clapping his hands. He was always thankful, always grateful for what he had. And I never heard him complain or talk bad about anyone. I once remember riding in the car with him as a child when someone cut him off in the parking lot, he quietly murmured “you crazy!”, and that was the worst thing I ever heard him say.

I could go on and on, as you can probably tell, but I won’t, I’ll end with following. My grandfather was the type of man that even though he had an artificial leg, he often declined to use the handicapped parking pass because he said those spots are for people who really need them. I would not be who I am were it not for my grandfather, and I remember and honor him today.